Family-Related Drabbles

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Four drabbles (100, 200 or 300 words) about family: Hutch’s wife, Starsky’s brother, Hutch’s mom, and both of their fathers.

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“Vanessa”

“Damn, Hutchinson. You got that fox waitin’ at home every night? Shit, man, you’re one lucky sumbitch.” Willis shook his head with envy. Starsky followed his admiring gaze out the window and saw Vanessa, sitting in her little convertible with the top down, wearing fashionable shades and running a hand through her windblown hair. She looked incredible.

Hutch laughed softly, giving a modest ‘yeah, I’m a lucky guy’ shrug. Starsky recognized the unease in Hutch’s smile and suspected he might be the only one here who could see it.

“You got plans tonight?” Starsky asked.

“Yeah. We’re going to a wine-tasting thing, I guess,” answered Hutch as he shoved a textbook into his pack.

Great, thought Starsky. In his brief experience, Vanessa-and-wine was not a charming combination. Made her kind of mean.

“Well, hey, if your plans change give me a call. We’ll watch the late movie or something,” said Starsky, meaning if everything flies to hell, buddy, my couch is yours.

“Thanks, Starsk,” said Hutch with a genuine smile and a belly-pat. “I think it’s gonna be a good night though.”

You would, thought Starsky with affection. You poor guy. How long before she breaks your big heart?

 

 “Nick” 

“Yes! Marvin Gardens! And look at my pretty hotels.” Starsky shook his head pityingly. “Tough luck, pal. Cough it up.” He made a “gimme” gesture and took a swig from his beer.

Hutch thumbed through his pastel money. “When did you stop stinking at this game? Damn, look at this. You’re leaving me with sixty bucks.”

“Aww. You’re breakin’ my heart.”

“What heart?” muttered Hutch.

Starsky chuckled gleefully and stood, grabbing the phone from the wall after the second ring.

“Yep? … Yeah, that’s me. …Yes, I’ll accept the charges.”

Hutch looked up at his profile, but Starsky turned, shoulders hunching, obscuring the view.

“Hey, kid, what’s up? What’re you… Wait – why? …Okay, calm down. …Goddammit, Nick, I told you before… No! Do not go to Ma. You do not bring this shit to her door, you hear me? …Nicky, I told you… Right. Yeah.”

Dropping his forehead in one hand, Starsky drew further into himself. Hutch looked at the curve of his back, the tense line from neck to waist. He wanted to get up and rest a hand there, between the tight shoulders, but knew what would happen if he did.

Starsky’s voice was hushed. “Yeah, I will, but ya gotta wait ‘til tomorrow. …I said I will, Nick. …Yeah. …Me, too. Look, just…don’t be stupid, huh? Be cool. …Right, you got it. Tomorrow. …’Bye, kid.”

He hung up. After a motionless moment, he scrubbed his face with both hands and turned.

“Where were we? My turn?” He dropped to the floor and briskly tossed the dice. The racecar moved down the stretch, turned the corner, and landed squarely in jail.

The little noise Starsky made was meant to be a laugh. Hutch felt the pain of it in his own heart, and had to close his eyes.

 

“Hutch’s Mom”

Starsky liked Hutch’s mom. She was lovely: tall, cool, elegant. Sweet, though reserved.

When they met, Starsky called her Mrs. Hutchinson and kissed her hand. “Please, David, call me Sylvia,” she said, smiling. So he did. That evening he offered his arm and walked her in to dinner, saying, “Sylvia, you look beautiful,” which was simply the truth.

Hutch, looking pained, said, “Starsky, please don’t flirt with my mother.”

Sylvia patted Hutch’s hand. “Kenneth? We mustn’t tell guests what to do.”

Starsky waltzed with her later. Sure, Hutch scowled – but Starsky could tell how truly pleased he was, and proud.

 

“Blood & Wishes”

“He still doesn’t get it,” Hutch seethed, slamming the phone down. “We put scumbags behind bars, my father gets scumbags out, and dammit. Whenever he tells me how brilliantly he destroyed the prosecution, I wanna tell him to go fuck himself.” He slumped onto the couch beside Starsky. “He’s my dad, Starsk, and I know blood’s important, but… sometimes I wish we’d never talk, never again. You know?”

“Don’t.” Starsky didn’t look up from his book.

“…Huh?”

“Don’t wish that.” Starsky calmly turned a page. “Don’t do it.”

Hutch hid his face against his partner’s shoulder. Starsky patted his knee.